


that which is most dear

by Destina



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a moment of sharp clarity, Marcus realizes how much he has to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that which is most dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misspamela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/gifts).



Marcus knelt by the stream and washed his face and hands, ridding himself of all traces of their afternoon's work. Esca crouched beside him, smelling of sweat and sticky with pieces of hay, but the day's labors would bear out over time. Owning a farm was far different than Marcus had imagined in countless aspects, and the work as hard in its own way as building forts and digging trenches. Overhead, the sun beat hot against them as it descended toward the edge of the world, its light soaking through Marcus' garments like warm water.

When he was satisfied he looked more like a man and less like a pig rolling in dirt, Marcus rose to find Esca grinning at him, mischief in his eyes.

"Let us ride," Esca said, "and chase the sun down."

Marcus found himself helpless in the face of Esca's smile, as he always had, as he hoped he always would. In truth, he had never tried to put a name to what they were to one another. But when Esca's gaze was upon him, when Esca's hands roamed his skin at night in the privacy of their tiny dwelling, Marcus was quite sure Mithras had humbled him with wounds and pain only to lift him up again into Esca's sheltering touch.

It was a thing so rich and fine, it required payment, and even now Marcus was unsure he had paid enough for a lifetime of Esca's smiles. Each evening, he thanked Mithras for this gift, one so precious it sometimes stole Marcus' breath from his chest.

They galloped out toward the low hills, no particular destination in mind, only running free across the open meadows. Shadows lengthened across their path, and Esca slowed at the edge of the far pasture, guiding his mare gently over the rocks.

Suddenly, Esca's mare reared up, panic clear in her frantic whinny. Esca jerked hard on the reins, to no avail. Marcus drew up short and watched, unable to do much of help to either horse or rider. Esca was a solid horseman. Marcus had seen him ride sideways up the sides of craggy mountains, and down again into deep valleys, always sure of his seat. He had seen a horse fall in exhaustion, carrying Esca with her, and the tender way in which Esca sent her into the afterlife. But nothing had prepared him to see Esca fly into the air and land, crumpled and still, on the hard ground.

"Esca," Marcus shouted, swinging down from his horse without even a moment's hesitation. One fluid motion between thought and action, and he was running toward Esca, whose face was turned from him. He dropped to his knees beside the still form and touched Esca's shoulder, unable to breathe, barely able to form words. "Esca!"

In answer, Esca made a small, wounded sound, and the shock of relief was so strong Marcus would have staggered under it, if standing. He reached for Esca and rolled him carefully to his back, as he had seen it done in the Legions, when cavalry had fallen in battle. Esca's face was bloody, and his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Marcus touched his face, his eyes, and when they opened, he caught his breath.

"It is all right," Esca said softly, between panting breaths. "I am well."

 _"Esca,"_ Marcus said again, for it was all he could say; it was all he could think. He placed his hand over the place where Esca's heart beat strong and fast in his chest, and stared at him, the terror coming fresh upon him. Esca swallowed hard and lifted his hand to cover Marcus's fingers, and they sat thus for some little while, while Esca recovered his wind, and Marcus, his words.

"Can you stand?" Marcus asked, reluctantly pulling his hand away.

"If you will lend an arm," Esca answered, pushing himself up. Marcus clasped his arm and pulled, Esca no slight weight of muscle and bone in his grasp, and together they rose from the ground.

"Poor Dacia," Esca said, looking for his mare. As for Marcus, he had eyes only for his friend.

"Come," Marcus said. He mounted his own horse and reached down for Esca. "The horse knows the way home."

Esca took Marcus' arm and swung up behind him, landing with a small grunt of effort or pain, Marcus could not tell which. Marcus turned the horse toward their cottage, moving at a trot. They had traveled thus once before, in their escape from the Seal People, but it was nothing like that journey. Esca's hands settled lightly at his hips, then slid round to rest on Marcus' thighs, and his cheek rested against Marcus' back. The weight of him there sent a spike of fear through Marcus' heart; even at his most tired, Esca did not lean, did not depend on anyone.

He urged the horse on faster, anxious to be at home, where he could lay hands upon Esca and know he was sound.

The sun was near to setting when Marcus dismounted and helped Esca down. Esca swayed, unsteady, even as he shoved Marcus away and made his own way inside. Marcus saw to his horse as quickly as he was able, then dipped a bucket in the cistern and took the water inside. There Esca was stripping off his muddy tunic, showing a chest and back already bruising from impact.

"Stop," Marcus said, and drew Esca nearer the banked fire. He knelt down, breathing life back into their fire, and fed it wood to bring it back to strength. Then he turned his attention to Esca, who stood watching him, something dark and quiet in his eyes.

Marcus pulled a scrap of clothing from his things, an old tunic perhaps, though it mattered not, and wet it in the bucket. He cleaned the blood from Esca's face gently, examining the gash running diagonal across his forehead. It was not so severe, though the swelling was rapid; Esca would bear a lump there, come morning. One more badge of honor. Of survival.

Quite suddenly, Marcus' hands began to tremble. He dropped the cloth, and brushed his thumbs across Esca's brow, down over his temples; he drew his fingers around the fragile curve of Esca's head, ran them through Esca's wet hair, and then he pressed kisses to his forehead, his temple, to each of his eyes. Under his touch, Esca trembled as well, and when Marcus wrapped a hand around Esca's neck and pulled him close, Esca went willingly into his embrace.

They did not speak; there were no words sufficient for what was left unsaid.

When finally they parted, Marcus turned to gather up provisions for a light supper, but Esca caught his hand. "I am not hungry," he said, drawing Marcus back toward their bed. He shed his remaining garments and climbed into the bed, wincing as he did so.

Marcus, who could not have eaten with such a heavy lump of fear and gratitude still in his throat, was glad of it; seeing Esca fall had taken a year off his life. Even bathing was not a foremost concern, and he stripped down without troubling over it, to slip into bed beside Esca.

Still wordless, he traced the scrapes and bruises on Esca's skin, while Esca watched him; followed each touch with a press of his lips, while Esca drew his hand softly through Marcus' hair. Bit by bit, as he reassured himself, the shaking in his hands slowed, then stopped, and then Esca drew him down for kisses, deep and soft.

Marcus gathered Esca into his arms carefully, mindful of all the sore places he had mapped. It was all Marcus could do not to crush Esca to him, but the heavy weight of him against Marcus' side was enough, and Esca seemed content to pillow his head on Marcus' chest.

Tomorrow he would spoil Esca, and there would be no work for him, no riding, though Esca would fuss and complain and fix Marcus with that bold stare which always made him want to tumble Esca into the grass and take him then and there. He would appreciate all those things he had come to take for granted.

As if Esca could hear him thinking, he fumbled out a hand and caught Marcus' in his own, curling their fingers together. "In the morning, we will ride back out to the fields," he said, in that tone which said they would be fighting about this and many other things if Esca did not have his way.

Marcus drew his fingertips down Esca's spine and thrilled to the sound of Esca's contented sigh. It would not matter who won. What mattered was the steady rhythm of Esca's heart, safe beneath Marcus' hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for misspamela, who asked for H/C with Esca as the injured party. I'm glad she gave me the excuse to write it!


End file.
